


The Curse

by Samayel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bottom Harry, Dominant Draco, Eventual Romance, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samayel/pseuds/Samayel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy enlists the unlikely aid of Hermione Granger in a bid to save Harry, who had been missing after the war for several years, from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Draco looked at the squat little house on the other end of the busy street, squinting with concentration. It took considerable talent to pierce the veil of illusions and wards that ringed and guarded it so carefully. It wasn't a place that invited being found, and the resident had made sure that anyone not intended to see it would pass it by without a second thought.

Anyone who wasn't very good at seeing what was hidden, perhaps, but Draco was surprisingly observant even by the standards of wizards. It wasn't one of the talents he bragged about loudly. It was one of the gifts he kept to himself, not letting on that he was conscious of even small or subtle signals that people gave away every day. These were the tiny facts he clutched to himself as they were revealed, letting these tidbits of gleaned wisdom guide him in his dealings with others.

He had other talents he bragged of loudly, not that many listened. In the nearly six years since the wars end he'd taken the mantle of the Malfoy name despite the damage done to it and not given a damn if his conduct injured it any further. He had his own interests at the forefront of his mind, and with his parents dearly departed in the chaos of those final days, he'd simply shuttered and locked the mansion and moved to London where he could pursue his own interests at his leisure. 

His interests, of course, were unsavory by some people's standards, but it didn't bother him. Being thought of as perverted, cruel and self indulgent was an acceptable price for the kind of freedom the city brought him. He could glut his lusts as he saw fit...always skirting the edge of Muggle and Wizarding laws...and if he could relieve himself in fits of violent ardor with young men of negotiable virtue and thoroughly questionable character, so much the better. Truthfully, he WAS perverted, cruel and self indulgent...the difference was that he was proud of it. He saw himself as a top tier predator in a world of herd animals. He found what he wanted, from those desiring to give it, and took it with pleasure.

The Wizarding world hadn't thought highly of his habits back when he'd first taken over the manor and only sought out partners inside the tight knit community of those gifted with magic. After a string of exhausted and repulsed former partners let rumors slip regarding Draco's predilection for sexual violence, the papers and rumormongers would only hint in vague ways at the last heir of the Malfoys being cursed. They were all too polite to reveal the more scandalous details...but only because they found it more entertaining to let people's imaginations fill in the blanks with notions that were probably far more lurid than the reality.

Reality. That was what had brought him here, to this appallingly quiet little neighborhood with its bustling locals and squat little houses crammed in side by side. It wasn't easy to admit that he needed someone's help...and far less easy to admit that the help he needed had to come from someone who felt a certain mutual loathing at the sight of him. There was scarcely any point in waiting longer, so he crossed the street at the first break in traffic and made his way up the steps to the fine old door with brass knockers. It wasn't much of a house, but it wasn't surprising that the person who dwelt within would choose to live surrounded by Muggles instead of enjoying the limelight of the Wizarding world. War 'heroes' were still fresh in the minds of most witches and wizards...and there wasn't likely to be any peace or quiet for the hapless Hogwart's graduates who had made such a difference in the war against Voldemort.

There was no way this would be comfortable meeting. Too much water under the bridge, too many uncomfortable memories, too much bad blood between both sides. Still, it had to be done. There was something larger at stake than pride...and that was saying something when it was Malfoy pride being weighed against it. The wards were the sort that only a Muggle-lover would have used...mild and inoffensive, sure to deter and distract the accidental passerby, and alert the resident of any presence that lingered near the house...but nothing potentially lethal or even harmful. Draco took one of the brass knockers in one hand and let it boom an announcement of his presence. As for the Muggles wandering by...once Draco had gone up the steps and off the street, the wards here had folded in around him and not a single person passing on the busy street behind noticed him anymore.

No one answered. Time passed and Draco irritably let the knocker thunder his request for entry. It was late afternoon. Eventually he'd run out of daylight, and he had no interest in being away from his flat longer than was necessary. This social call would already require a lot of time for explanations...more time than he'd wanted to spend, but necessity was at play here, not comfort. Still no one answered. His patience wore thin, as it often did, and with pure spite on his mind he let the knocker slam without stop, likely echoing through the house unless it was warded for silence, letting his unexpected host know that this was one visitor who wouldn't just quit and depart at the first sign of...

The door snapped open suddenly, jerking the knocker from Draco's hand. The face that peered out and squinted in the sunlight was pale and drawn, eyes haunted by grief and alight with anger at the sight of the intruder on the doorstep.

Hermione Granger looked a fright. Her hair was a wild mass, her clothes a rumpled collection of whatever had looked comfortable or nearby at the moment. Her complexion was sallow...except for the reddening of the cheeks that came from anger. Her voice was the husky growl of someone who hadn't spoken to others in a long while...and it was directed with intensity at Draco.

"What...do...you...want?!" Her expression was one of incredulity and disgust, which, had she but known of the way it amused Draco when people thought ill of him, she might well have tried to hide. There was the matter of the wand in her hand, and her reputation as a superb witch of considerable power, so Draco quashed the urge to bait her with insults.

"Granger. You should already know that if I'm here, on your doorstep, that I have a reason significant enough to merit putting aside our differences. You are widely thought of as clever, and I'm not here to dispute that...so don't shut that door and stop pointing that wand at me. Invite me in. We need to talk. I'd fancy a chair and a cup of tea while we talk...because there's a lot to be said...more than we can cover on a doorstep...and you might want to be sitting for some it."

Hermione's mouth narrowed with distaste. "No. I can't even imagine what your warped brain could cook up that might even interest or involve me. I've no need for company...and less need than that for company like you. If you haven't got anything but that infamous bluster and prattle...then piss off and get off my steps...or I'll hex you until parts fall off on the way home." 

Draco leaned just his face forward, lowered his voice, and smirked. "Oh, I didn't cook this up. How about some hospitality...for news of Harry Potter?" The look in Hermione's eyes told him that he'd struck the mark, but the woman was stubborn just the same. It couldn't be helped...they really did have a fair measure of bad blood between them.

"To blazes with him. Who cares? If he wants so badly to be lost and forgotten, let him be lost and forgotten. It's no concern of mine." 

Draco was a little surprised by the witch's apparent lack of concern...but he wasn't going to show it. He knew there had been a falling out between Harry and Hermione at the war's end, shortly after the death of Ron Weasley during the now legendary fight to free Harry from Bellatrix Lestrange, but he'd rather thought that after Potter had been unaccounted for and sought after by all and sundry for so many years that, just maybe, news of his existence would be greeted with less disregard.

"I do understand that you two fell out. I also don't care. He's alive, I know where he is, and there are things you need to hear that I don't feel like doling out while standing on a doorstep in the middle of the afternoon. If you want to hear me say it, I'll say it. I need your help. There's something I have to do...I can't do it without your help...and you won't give that help unless I explain it in detail. Now stop being tiresome and let me have a chair and some tea, alright?"

"Do you think his name is some magic passcode for my home and into my life? You're kidding yourself. Harry made his wishes plain years ago. His life isn't my problem anymore. Go find someone else to annoy and patronize. Asking nicely won't change that neither you, nor he, are welcome here. This conversation is over." 

Hermione had already begun to pull the door shut when Draco jammed his foot into the way and blurted out one last gamble for her invitation. "I apologize! If it will get you to hear this out...I'll apologize in detail for everything...all of it...the things I said, the things I did in school...the whole lot of it! I'm sorry I hurt you...can't change that...but if you'll listen to me for just an hour I'll apologize a hundred times, just let me in and hear me out!"

She looked ready to explode into spells over Draco's temerity at first, but something crept over her features. Shock, wariness, curiosity...and then she spoke, wistfully for the first time.

"Malfoy...you've never apologized for anything in your life. I doubt that you mean it...but still...what on earth would you consider important enough to make throwing around words like those worthwhile? "

Draco knew the matter was closed. He'd get what he wanted, and the rest of this was pure formality, but he was committed to this already and a lot more truthfulness than this was about to take place. She needed more, and he'd give it if it would make her stop quibbling and just let him in.

"It's Harry. He's dying. Not fast...but I don't think he's got all that much time left. I need you to help me heal him. This isn't something the clowns in St. Mungo's would understand. It isn't some case of the sniffles. I'm talking about a curse so complex that if you didn't know what to look for, you wouldn't even believe it was there. There has to be a way to unravel it and break it, and between my knowledge of dark curses, and your famous gift for theoretical magic and spell creation, we can do it. Hate him if you like, but if I can be arsed to take time to do this, the least you can do is let me explain it in full."

The will to resist seemed to sap from Hermione's bones. She blinked owlishly in the daylight and shrugged in defeat.

"Fine. Come in, then. But when this is done I want that apology. I still can't believe you're serious, but if you're willing to put yourself through this much just for the chance to explain it...follow me."

TBC


	2. Part 2

The Curse(Part 2) by Samayel

The tea was a common store-bought brand and Draco sniffed in vague displeasure at the swill. He really shouldn't have expected any better from a Muggle-born witch known for her love of solitude and privacy, but still, his nerves needed stiffening and this would barely do the trick. The kitchen was a shambles like the rest of the house, cups and saucers and plates and bowls scattered about on surfaces, with books and notes and papers shoved haphazardly among the debris. The chairs and table were the sort of cheap things usually found at sales when someone was moving out of their flat and hadn't any room to move their things...a hodgepodge of unmatched wooden and plastic seating that really added to the sense of chaos and disregard for appearances Draco recognized as symptomatic of a true hermit.

"Get on with it. I'm busy with my research. I don't have all day for this, and if you have any complaints about my sense of décor...keep them to yourself, I couldn't care less what you think." Hermione flopped gracelessly into the chair across the table from Draco with a cup of tea for herself in hand, clearly aware of his disrespect for her chosen surroundings.

"Farthest thing from my mind," Draco lied glibly, "I'm in favor of getting this done with as quickly as possible, too, but just remember...it's my tale to tell, and I want to tell it all, my way, and it might take a little time to work my way to all the salient details. You probably won't like some of it, and I understand that, but I'm asking you to indulge me and not interrupt with constant pleas for me to leave parts out. Questions are fine, but all of this gets told or none of it. You aren't just the only possible candidate to help me fix this matter...you should feel privileged. You'll be witness to my confession. I don't need absolution...or want it...but someone should know how this all came about. That someone will be you. Your reputation suggests that you'll keep my confidences to yourself. As odd as it might sound coming from me...and don't think for a second that I'm unaware of the irony...I trust you, Granger. You're Gryffindor right down to your mismatched socks. You aren't one to betray a person who deals with you in complete honesty."

Hermione looked a little put off by the candor and the compliment. "You're buttering me up. None of this changes the deal. I want my apology when you finish. But fine...tell it your way...whatever that is. The teapot's full. I can't imagine you feeling the need to confess much of anything. I'm all ears."

Draco steeled himself and sipped at the tea. This was really happening, and while he'd prepared himself for the notion of it, the reality of baring his soul was still strange and discomforting in the extreme.

"It starts like this...I stumbled onto Potter in the most unlikely of places, which is probably part of why he was there. You already know a bit about my habits...I see the papers stacked up here and there. I seem to be a favorite when it comes to salacious gossip. Not all of it's true, but enough that you get the idea. I'm not the least ashamed of liking what I like. Sex isn't fun unless there are bruises...pain is reality, suffering is part of life. Some people in this world hunger for that pain...it gives them a moment of clarity...lets them expiate their sins. And just like there are some people born to need that pain...there are people like me who are made to give it. It's what I do...and I enjoy it.

My kind of habits make relationships of any length a challenge...to say the least. Typically, I make use of someone until they move on. No coercion. They get what they need, and I get what I need. There are a few bars that cater to my specialized interests. It's why I came to London in the first place. The luxurious isolation of the Malfoy Estate didn't really suit me. About five months ago my previous partner finally drifted off...which seems to happen a lot. I can't even say why, since I can't recall asking much about his personal life, or caring about it for that matter. It's enough to say that the kind of young fellows I favor usually aren't given to great stability. It became necessary to make a few sojourns to the bars and find myself a new toy. That's how I found him.

The place was an appalling dive, really the bottom of the barrel when it comes to bars. I may not like it, but it does attract the desperate and the destitute. The kind of boys who frequent it usually leave with someone who can deliver the sort of chastisement they're looking for...someone like me. I made my way to the bar, took a seat and asked for a drink...and while I surveyed the line of persons already present I measured them up. They usually fall into the two obvious categories...they sort who prefer to give pain, to dominate, to punish...and the ones who are looking for us. You wouldn't have recognized him...I almost didn't at first. He had all the hallmarks of my 'type'. Piercings every which way, one on either side of his lower lip, in his eyebrows, his ears, his nose...and in his nipples. He was decked out in a tartan kilt and black fishnet, with his hair dyed an eye stabbing shade of violet. Skinny, too. He was already being chatted up some..."

Hermione interrupted his monologue for the first time with an air of incredulity. "Seriously...you're telling me Harry was covered in piercings...wearing fishnet...and with violet hair??"

"That's not the half of it. He was smeared in cheap black kohl around the eyes, black lipstick, black nail polish that was badly chipped and needed a recoat. A few bits of tarty jewelry here and there...spiked dog collar with a handy place to get a leash onto it if you wanted. He all but screamed submissive and into pain. A radical departure from the familiar Potter of old...but it certainly explains how he's stayed off the Wizarding scene for so long. Who'd even think to look twice at another gutter punk in London? I was a bit floored at first. The scar was barely visible through the mass of hair and the poor lighting, but I caught a glimpse and knew it was him.

Imagine the temptation. I couldn't resist. To be perfectly candid, humbling him figured prominently in some of my most treasured fantasies. It was too good to pass up. Of course I had to get the cretin who was pouring drinks into him out of the way first...and when I walked up and interrupted I earned the instant enmity of the fellow. Mind like butter, though, so it wasn't a long issue. A little magical nudge and he suddenly developed an irresistible urge to find the nearest policeman and punch him. Probably still in the clink...which is all for the better in my book. Very low class character, which doesn't say much for the company Potter was keeping these days.

Still, it did suggest attainability, which worked in my favor. As you can imagine, Potter wasn't too pleased to recognize me, and he wasn't very amused by my getting rid of what was apparently a 'regular' date of his. Obviously, bringing him around wasn't going to be easy. He was stand offish to say the least, but the promise of another string of free drinks got him to tolerate my presence. Again, my honest opinion, he looked rough. Not in an intimidating way, he was never a large one, but rather he looked like he'd been living on starvation rations and cigarettes for too long. You could see his ribs easily through that fishnet shirt of his, and frankly the smell coming off of him said he needed a decent wash. As a general rule, poor hygiene doesn't do much for me, but it was Potter, so I was willing to tolerate a lot to get what I wanted. He looked frayed around the edges, like rope that had been put to too much use for too long. Even so, I wanted him.

Five whiskeys later I had him. It took a lot of fast talking, keeping my cool demeanor and heavily implying that I could deliver all the pain he needed, better than the best he'd had, and that treating him like garbage would be a walk in the proverbial park for me. I wasn't lying...I am confident in my abilities and my experience...it was just a matter of convincing him of that. Our first encounter was in the alleyway behind the pub, and I used him like the pathetic cast off thing he was. I left some marks, but not a fraction of what I could do if I had time and leisure in a place more suited to privacy. I left him bruised and used, with my number and told him to ring me up if he needed more like that, but with the promise that anything done with planning would be infinitely more intense.

Not to make light of it, but I have to admit, however crudely it was done in that alley, it was glorious. I've never savored anything the way I enjoyed that moment. Granger...if I live to be two hundred...I will never forget how excellent it was to find release buried to the hilt in Potter's arse during a rough spit fuck in that alleyway. Grinding his face into the bricks and using him like the cheap tart he'd made himself out to be...was as close to a religious experience as I've ever had. The odd thing about it was what I'd noticed from him. He didn't 'respond' the same way others had. Not like any of them. The body tenses during times like those...it's normal...it's how people respond to violence even when they desire it. These are primal reflexes I'm talking about...purely involuntary. The difference was that unlike all the others, he was a tense and miserable mess until we started...and by the time I was finished and ready to saunter off...he looked like the cat that had got the cream. Even during the act...he relaxed at a level I've never seen before. Not...acceptance...more like relief. And I've seen relief when it was over...just never in the middle of it all.

In any case, I chalked it up to his being a natural, somehow ideally suited for life as a submissive. I admit, the thought certainly pleased me, but even then, something didn't ring true. I had the nagging feeling there was more to it than that, but mostly I hoped he'd ring me up sometime and let me show off what I can do when I have more than a dirty alley to work with. It took awhile, and it's embarrassing to admit, but this is a confession after all...so yes, I was eager to hear his voice on the other end of the phone. After that night, what I wanted most of all was entirely clear to me: I wanted him and nothing less. I wanted to shake his calm, push him farther than anyone had ever taken him, vent every wickedness I'd ever dreamed up on a single chastened being...Potter."

Hermione looked thoroughly repulsed by the relish with which Draco was delivering his tale of ardor. She'd averted her eyes at points and focused carefully on the teacup and its contents. She shook her head. "What is this nonsense? This is bragging, not a confession, Malfoy. Do you really expect me to believe that Harry is wandering London as a goth punk with a fetish for submission to sexual violence...and enjoys it? Your lurid fantasies are sorry enough, but if you think dragging Harry into the story will finally get you an audience..."

Draco put his hand up. "Remember what I said at the beginning of this...you may not like the gory details, but there is a curse at work here, and I barely understand it even now that I'm sure it exists, but hear me out and let me work through the rest of this before I lose my nerve. I may enjoy telling parts of this, but I haven't even scratched the surface of it all. If I weren't certain that time was running out, I'd be content with things as they are...perhaps...or maybe not. It's complicated, Granger. As much as a black and white, good and evil, right and wrong world is a favorite view of Gryffindors, I think you're more than clever enough to know that this world is a place with many shades of gray. I'm not lying. May I continue?"

"As you wish." Hermione's jaw was set with determination. Draco sipped at the tea to wet his throat, took a deep breath and began again.

TBC


	3. Part 3

The Curse (Part 3 of 7) by Samayel 

 

Hermione looked more than a little aghast at the notion of Potter strung out on heroin, but busied herself pouring more tea and tried to look vaguely disinterested. "So Harry's a junkie? You say 'Or so you thought?' I take it there was more to it than just a need for drugs?"

Draco accepted the next cup of tea and withdrew from his pocket a flask he'd brought for the occasion. The parts he had to tell next would get...uncomfortable. Not as much for Granger as for himself, but it seemed impolite not to offer a dram. "I need my upper lip stiffened...would you like a splash? It's good brandy, I promise."

"No, not for me. Not much for drink...I had done with the stuff a few years ago. I need a clear head to do my work. So get on with this, then...Harry's got a serious habit, and it isn't just from boredom or the need to dull a rotten life?"

"Exactly...it was actually the second clue that led me to the curse, but I missed it because it all seemed so commonplace at the time. I mean, really, junkie and pain addict kind of go hand in hand, I've seen it before, but I confess I was a little disgusted that he'd fallen so low. Potter drank like a fish, lived on enough food to keep a bird alive, smoked at least two packs of Silk Cut a day, and only went back to his hiding place, hovel that it was, to catch the occasional nap or resupply. The rest of the time he was shacked up at one trick's house or another, cadging drinks in bars, turning tricks for a bit of cash, or making a deal for a little more dope. Not a friend or a trusted ally in sight. He never seemed to associate with anyone longer than he had to, and he certainly showed no signs of liking any of the people he dealt with from day to day.

Obviously, being good at wandless magic is probably all that's kept him alive. Anyone else who lived like he did and pursued as many unsafe sexual encounters would have been diseased to a fare thee well by now, but if he'd caught anything he almost certainly cured it before it took root. Believe me, Granger...I do check for things like that before I take a a new 'toy'. 

Likewise the heroin and the other drugs he gulped like candy...anyone without the constitution of a horse should have dropped dead of it all, but I saw him taking pills, smoking marijuana, sniffing powders and shooting up...non-stop...for days in a row, only to show up at my place ready for a shag, twitchy as usual, and content to be shoved off as soon as I was done.

I arranged for a few mischances to fall upon his other regulars. A couple of jailings, some visits to relatives, an inexplicable free vacation, what have you. Just a few magical interferences and some money to push things along and the deeds were done without anyone the wiser or any great harm. By the end of the month I had him mostly to myself, which is what I wanted. I don't like to share. Secondhand goods don't appeal to me, and Potter certainly started smelling better after getting showers on a regular basis.

That...that's when things got...strange. Or stranger. I suppose all of this is odd enough looked at from your point of view, Granger. I hadn't realized anything was going on...but I think...I think I was approaching something like contentment. When you're around someone that much, every night, for hours at the least, and you get used to them being there...you get...comfortable. You talk. A little small talk here or there, a few words that aren't strictly about business or sexual demands. 

It started small. I'd say something decent, he'd smart off at the mouth almost immediately and snarl a few insults, I'd get annoyed and slap him around to remind him of his place...and he'd be back to normal. Then it just happened. I remember it clearly. He was lying on the bed, we were both exhausted after the fact. It was the second month he'd been around. He has beautiful skin, you know? It isn't all that weird to think of looking on someone attractive and appreciating it. Even for me."

Draco realized that he was rambling and staring into the teacup. He could feel Hermione's eyes on him, glowering and waiting for him to continue. He took a long pull from the brandy.

"I only touched him. I mean...I'd touched him a lot, over the past few weeks before that night, but not like that. I'd never even wanted to...to touch someone that way. It was so very strange, so alien to me. I just acted on impulse. Some part of me...woke up. I meant to touch him...in a way that was...kind. Sort of a compliment...just to say that what we'd done just before had pleased me. It was a good fuck. I enjoyed it...and I enjoyed it largely because it was him with his fine little ass in the air able to take everything I could give until I was sated. I...appreciated it. 

I couldn't have imagined that he'd snap bolt upright and hit me! I mean, I never saw it coming, and it caught me completely off my guard. It was like he'd gone insane, and he looked like he was ready to kill. I don't show much affection of any kind to anyone, and I wasn't in any mood to be shown any kind of ingratitude, much less a punch to the face. He's small, and wiry, but he is strong under that wretched looking, waifish surface.

I beat him senseless and left him on the floor. He hadn't fought back at all except for that one punch. As soon as I was enraged and hurting him, he was back to normal, or normal for him, limp and boneless and taking whatever was dished out. I stormed off and left the flat, and when I came back he was gone. He stayed gone for three days, came back stinking of booze and smoke and cheap, greasy food, and I was glad to see him, even if he was surly, indignant and obnoxious as hell. 

It was three days of suddenly realizing that something you want is out of your grasp. Three days of restless sleep and constantly wondering if he'd show back up. I...I...Granger...I NEEDED him. I went through a lot of effort to make him mine, my plaything, my comfort, my pleasure...and I've never put that kind of effort forth for anything. I prized him above any wealth I've ever possessed, any thing or person I've ever known.

That wasn't the only time it happened, but that was the most obvious. I'm telling you...I tried not to show any interest in him or respect toward him whatsoever, but I believe he could actually SENSE it when I was thinking of him charitably. He'd get cross whenever I so much as looked at him with a kindly thought in my head, and I'd wipe the sneer off of his face with a little more chastisement whenever he shot his mouth off, but I couldn't get enough of him.

It took moving heaven and earth to do it, but I cajoled him into taking up staying at my place. I had to convince him that his only value to me was that he was a comfortable fucktoy and that I liked the idea of keeping him handy and out of trouble to prevent inconvenient absences, but it was a lie. I may tell them well, but I was lying because I didn't want him gone. A whisper of anything nearer the truth and I'd never have gotten him back in the door."

 

Hermione looked at Draco when he lifted his head, stared him right in the eyes, and whispered hoarsely, "You're in love with him. You don't don't even know how to say it, abominable prick that you are, but you've fallen in love with him."

Draco snarled in irritation, "Gloating is uglier than usual on a Gryffindor, so get it out of your system, witch! The situation is complicated enough without you tangling it up with prose. Whatever you want to call it, he's mine because I wanted him, and I've done whatever was necessary to keep him mine, which is more than I can say for the rest of you. There's still more of this to tell before you really understand what has to be done, do you think you can handle the rest? "

Hermione nodded quietly and ignored the outburst, then leaned back and poured another cup.

TBC


	4. Part 4

The Curse (Part 4 of 7) by Samayel 

"Having him underfoot that much was something I wasn't ready for, but after losing track of him for a few days I didn't want him out of my sight for so long. You might be chuckling to yourself over how I feel about having him near, but Granger, I made good use of his proximity. I used that ass of his like the streetwalking tramp he really was. I thrashed him as savagely as I pleased, used him morning, noon and night, and let him sleep on the floor near the bed rather than let something lower than a house elf sully it except when needed for my own convenience.

How you fanciful folk would have blanched, to see the things I've done with your precious hero. The things he's endured, and even begged for! They'd shock the naive, titillate the secretly wicked among you, and horrify the genteel! After a week or so of being a convenient toy for me to vent with...he barely bothered with clothes, just scruffed about the flat in his underwear, smudging a bit of kohl on here or there, watching the Muggle telly the flat came with, or making food for himself when he felt peckish...only dressing and going out to score drugs and liquor or to check in on his cache of belongings.

It was about then that I figured it out, dancing around his moods, showing enough constant contempt to keep him from sniffing out my desire for him. You have to live with someone before you can really know them, and I got to know him well enough to see something truly amiss. It nagged at me, in the back of my head, that his responses were always so different than anyone else might have been. He never showed the slightest bit of sexual excitement. You know what I mean...blushing virgin I'm not...so I'm used to seeing people who share my tastes show some interest in it, and not just a smile. It isn't always about orgasm, but there's usually some hint of sexual lust or need in every person looking for a partner. It's often buried or sublimated by a need for stimulation other than boring old pleasure, but it's there...just not in him.

Always the same, even when he was drugged to the eyeballs on whatever, he'd respond to our trysts with compliance, and then relief, but not lust...and that bothered me more than I liked. I pushed the edge of my interests in ways that would send you screaming from the room, and I savored every second of it, but Potter...only ever showed the kind of look one would expect from a junkie who had just gotten a desperately needed fix. 

In a way, I brought this to a head, because I moved things far enough along that he wasn't getting by on a few rough tricks every night or two. He had an endless supply of what he needed, and I gave it to him freely. All the abuse and violation he could handle, as often as I could dole it out, and he took all I could give and eventually started to need more. In just a few months we spiraled out of control. He was getting restless, even in the few hours between sessions I can only describe as bestial. What he needs, no one can give him enough of, and it started becoming clearer to me in these last weeks.

Getting a spell past him is no small matter. He may not keep his wand handy, but his senses are sharp even through the drugs. In the end I had to spell myself while I was out of the house, then drift back in nonchalantly and examine him with Charmed senses. I found nothing the first time, but I was sure there was something at work that I couldn't explain.

No one behaves like he does, enraged even by affectionate thoughts that haven't been voiced or shown, utterly desperate for pain at constantly higher levels, unresponsive to pleasure except for vague relief when being hurt. I have never once seen him exhibit even marginal amusement at anything. He isn't 'pleased' by anything that I've ever seen, just relieved of some kind of burden that I can't detect. That isn't submission, that's inhuman, Granger! 

It took some trips home to the manor to pick the libraries clean, but I found it...and there's a reason it's damned near undetectable, Granger. He was cursed, and I'm sure of it now, and once you read what I've read you'll know what I do."

Draco pulled a slim leather volume from his inner coat pocket and slid it across the table. The book was clearly old enough to have been bound in the era of vellum parchment and soft calfskin, and there was no title or writing on its exterior. When Hermione flicked it open and began leafing through its pages she turned paled and nearly dropped the book with disgust.

"Malfoy, do you have any idea how illegal, how Dark, a book like this is? It's a couple of hundred years old if its a day, and these are unquestionably Dark curses that haven't seen daylight since then!"

Draco placed his head in his palm and sighed with exasperation. "Yes, yes, yes...dark, evil, book of curses, totally illegal, etcetera, etcetera...can we move on to the part where you're damned lucky I even had this to find? I tore apart the family library during the few hours a day I claimed for estate management needs, just to keep Potter from wondering where I was off to so regularly.

It was largely true, too, since I let the elves gather anything I need to sign and pile it in the study until I drop by and clear the desk of paperwork, then I usually just head home, but I was able to scour the stacks while I was there...and what I found is on the twenty-third page in. Just read it, already!"

Hermione Granger gulped her tea and flipped to the pages concerned, holding the book with evident distaste and flinching while she read the handwritten notation and descriptors that someone had painstakingly penned at least two centuries before. It was clearly the product of a truly vile mind, and her hand shook slightly while she absorbed the meaning in the words. It dawned on her that Malfoy was likely right. It was small wonder no one had ever heard of such a spell...given that anything this loathsome would have been destroyed by the Ministry if found.

Some wizard had ironed out the basic principles of the human capacity for pleasure and pain...and had found a way to warp them. The spell left no lingering magic to be found, it did its work and was gone, but the damage it did only showed itself as an appetite for self destruction, a slow crawl into madness that others would not see as anything but tragic. 

It carved away at the ability to tolerate the comfort of friends or family, turning those simple pleasures into agony, inducing the cursed to drive away anyone who would have taken the time to help or care. In time, it eroded the capacity to ever feel at ease, until every waking moment was a painful hell of its own, and the victim of the curse would surely self destruct rather than endure such a life.

"Oh...oh God. Harry...he's..." Hermione fought the urge to vomit while Malfoy somberly tucked away the small volume and sipped from his brandy.

"I know. You don't have to tell me. I've been living with it for months, living with knowing it for a week. That's not the end of it, Granger. If you read it all, read between the lines. He should have been dead years ago...just months after the spell was cast. I checked the book by Charm to see who else had opened it. It was Bellatrix Lestrange. Before she'd gone to Azkaban this book once found its way into her possession. It likely landed among my father's things when the others were jailed...and it's been there ever since, but she had Potter all to herself for a while at the end of the war. He wasn't the same when you freed him, was he? He should have been grateful...glad to have been rescued by a friend...pleased to see the war over with and start a new life, but he wasn't, was he? That's when you fell out, wasn't it? You cared, worried over him, showed it...and he lashed out, didn't he? Said something unforgivable, chased you and everyone else away, took off on his own...and by the time he left, everyone was happier to see him gone. No more harsh words, or flaring violence, no more epithets spewed at anyone who tried to help. Just conveniently gone.

The thing is, I don't think he knows he's cursed. It's instinct that's kept him alive all this time. He found a way to dim the pain, and anyone who wasn't a powerful wizard couldn't have done it. The booze, the drugs, the pain and isolation...they're all remedies for what he's enduring. He's been fighting off the worst effects of the curse...by picking a life that offers no comforting emotions and relief through pain, instead of from it. Anyone else would have dropped years ago, taken their own life, or died of disease or overdose, but he's still hanging on, using magic to heal himself.

There's an irony here that a person like you just wouldn't see, Granger. I thought I mastered him, made him my own because my strength was a perfect match for his weakness. Don't you see it? I never once ruled him...not even a little. He's stronger than any of us, and he only needed what I could give because it would keep him alive and able to function. I have what I thought I wanted...but it's killing him slowly...and as far gone as he is there can't be more than months to go before he runs out of strength and falls apart...but if I want to see him cured and alive...I have to let him go, because without that curse, I'm less than useless to him."

Draco poured the last of the brandy into his empty teacup and sighed, sinking into the cheap chair when the last of the tale was out of him and spoken. Hermione Granger was silent while the man in front of her gulped the last of the brandy to wash the bad taste of brutal honesty away. Her head was whirling with everything she'd taken in, horror mingled with hope, disgust blended with empathy.

"No...", she said softly, "I get it. There is a way to undo this...reversals are a whole field of study I've worked in extensively...and, Malfoy...Draco...you were right, I was wrong. I needed to hear this. Harry can be brought back to normal...but unless his memory is erased he won't ever be the same, and we can't erase that much of his memory without damaging his mind, so that's out. It won't be easy to pull this off if he knows people are trying to help him. 

Somehow...you're going to have to catch him unawares and immobilize him if we're even going to attempt this. He will fight back, and fight hard, if he catches wind of what we're trying to do. He may not even live through the reversal. If that spell you showed me is what Bellatrix did to him, it was done with pain and hatred, and to break it it will take the opposite...and that will put Harry through hell in the here and now, right up until the spell takes hold. He may not forgive anyone who put him through agony like what we're talking about. 

I know what kind of symbolic acts are normally required, but this will take more than that. This isn't a penny ante curse from a Diagon Alley witch...it won't be answered with just symbolism or substitutes. We'll have to be in the exact place the curse was set, and to counter the hate, the rage and pain that were used to fuel the original curse...it will take love. Not desire, not lust...unselfish, unfettered love. The kind where someone else's well being is more precious to you than your own. The only question is this: do you think you have it in you to bring that to the spell? It doesn't matter what you call it, but you cared enough to unravel this when no one else could...and enough to show up here and risk a hexing to get me involved. How far are you willing to go?"

Draco sat in perfect silence for a moment, eyes downcast and heart heavy. He'd opened doors he'd rather have kept closed just to get this far...and some of the time he'd kidded himself about what he was after, what he desired from all this, but he wasn't kidding anyone any more. Certainly not Granger, who couldn't have been brought into this based on falsehoods. He couldn't even afford to deceive himself, because a false footing on this path meant failure, and he wasn't a great fan of failure...in fact, if forced to choose between failure and honesty, he'd take the honesty. He put the cup down and looked up.

"As far as I have to, Granger. Just give him his life back." 

TBC


	5. Part 5

The Curse (Part 5 of 7) by Samayel

 

The galling part of it all had been that Granger had demanded the apology, in full, before Draco left the house. He'd rather hoped that once the serious nature of what they were about to undertake set in, she'd forget about petty little wrongs of yesteryear and any promises regarding apologies...but alas, the same famous skills of memory that made it possible for the witch to read a book once and never need to see it again also made it implausible for her to forget anything else. Apologies were not Malfoy specialties, but it wasn't like Draco couldn't get the words out if he had to.

It just rankled. It wore on him body and soul. Losing Potter was the worst part of it all. The apology was a minor annoyance compared to that. Magical transportation would have been easy for Draco, but he walked home just the same, watching the sun slowly fall, mulling over what he'd have to do...what he was looking at when it was all over. It was betrayal, plain and simple, and he should have been comfortable with it. Instead, all he felt was an empty ache in the pit of his stomach. Potter would be gone...off to St. Mungo's once this was done, or dead of it and buried...and there would just be an empty flat again. No more sweat and smoke stinking leather jacket flopped across his couch, no more stoned and skinny Potter sprawled in one his chairs or drifting lazily through the kitchen to grab a snack. No more insults or barbs traded back and forth.

No more sex. No more Potter bent across a handy piece of furniture and ravaged into dazed silence. No more binding that slim form to the headboard and venting his wickedest imaginings onto it. No more emptying his seed into that small, pert, wonderfully soft ass. No more sated lusts and restful nights. 

Back to the world of bars and people he genuinely felt contempt for but needed just the same. He couldn't call what he felt for Potter contempt anymore. He hid it with a show of repulsion and disdain, but there was only one quality Malfoy genuinely admired: strength. Potter possessed an inner strength so great that it shone like a beacon. Most couldn't have fathomed it through the fog of drugs and seeming lack of care for his life, but Potter was strong enough to have endured the intolerable for years. 

There was something magnificent in that determination, something awe inspiring and intimidating. Something desirable beyond sex, beyond physical satisfaction...something he wanted to be near and experience fully. He didn't want to beat or break that beautiful strength anymore...he wanted to cradle it to his breast and guard it with his life if need be.

There was a place inside him that he had always thought was empty...a place his chill, cool parents had never filled, and his classmates and dalliances had only brushed against. Somewhere inside he had always been alone, always restless, always angry...until now. In Harry he'd glimpsed a hint of what he'd wanted without knowing it. A tantalizing whisper of what it must be like to share instead of taking...to give without expecting something back...and enjoy it in a way that was more sublime than even his most lurid fantasies. 

And soon it would be gone, out of his life for good. There just wasn't another way...and it wasn't alright. A terrible clarity had settled over him after talking to Hermione Granger. It was all real now, not just something cautiously imagined and considered when he could get away from Potter long enough to think about it in safety. Love. Unselfish love. It hadn't started that way...but that's what it had become. What a horrible word. Love...the very thought of it made his skin crawl. It evoked images of all the weak, dependent people he'd ever seen sniveling at one another or over one another. He'd thought he could stand apart from the herd of simpering idiots, aloof and alone, proud and complete without ever being pulled down into the mud of their emotions...

...and he'd failed. Spectacularly. Even before he'd realized that a curse was at the root of things, he'd started to desire more than just personal satisfaction. He'd looked at the person on the bed beside him, barely conscious after what they'd done, and felt something fluttering inside of him that wasn't desire, wasn't possessiveness, wasn't anything for his own gain. He'd wanted Harry to be happy...to think for a minute that he was wanted, and appreciated. Even in the dark tumult of their perverse relationship, Draco had wanted in his way to show affection, to grasp after a closeness he'd never had, never even imagined. And of all that he'd desired in this life, so much of it foul...this one fair thing was the only one utterly forbidden by Harry's affliction.

Cruel irony...to suddenly find in himself a want for something good, and decent, and worthwhile...and it was completely out of his grasp. And worse...in giving Harry back the freedom to love and be loved in any sane or healthy way, he would be writing himself out of Harry's future.

Potter was beautiful in his way, lean and wiry, yet surprisingly soft, constantly wary except in fitful rest, at his fairest when he was unconscious and silent, his face still showing faint signs of the struggle inside him. No one who didn't know what Harry was enduring could have seen what was really going on, or could have grasped at the meaning of it all. They couldn't see in the twitching nervousness or the glazed eyed shamble the person who was clambering across a mountain of suffering that would have broken anyone lesser.

The flat was dark and quiet except for the flicker of the telly, the volume of which had been turned entirely off. Potter was breathing softly on the couch, bare except for a ratty pair of boxers. Draco had steeled himself for these last few nights on the way home. It would take every effort to conceal his thoughts and feelings. He didn't dare come any closer while these thoughts were still in his head. The realization that any selflessness on his part...could only hope to be rewarded by abandonment. Was that what redemption was about? Just a final blow to the ego to smash it all to kindling? Some last acknowledgment that, yes, you'd done something worth the doing of, and your payment was to live with knowing you'd get less than nothing in return?

He stared from a safe distance at the young man on the couch, soaking in every memory he could hold. Soon those memories would be all he'd have left. The slim hips, the smooth expanse of skin, marred only slightly by bruises. That shock of violet hair that flopped across his face...the roots of it a dark black that showed from weeks of having gone without touching up. The piercings plainly visible, studs driven through each nipple, both ears, the lips and eyebrow and nose. There were two more that weren't so visible, tucked safely in those ratty boxers. One small ring through the foreskin of his prick, and another barbell, just behind his sac. The kohl smeared eyes were shut, and one arm was thrown up across Potter's face. One dark tuft of fur was visible under the arm that was up. The chest moved slightly with the slow breaths of sleep. 

How Draco wanted to savage that mouth with a kiss, or fold his arms around those slender shoulders that carried so much weight, and just hold someone he genuinely desired close to himself. He wanted to witness that beautiful face afire with orgasm, or gazing back at him fondly. He hungered to feel that body shudder with genuine pleasure...not pain or relief from some ailment of the spirit that warped everything and everyone into a torment. He couldn't voice it, but at least at a distance he could think it.

Potter's face twisted into a grimace, even in slumber. He could feel it...even through his dreams, or nightmares. Whatever was going on in that mixed up, addled head of his just wasn't enough to block out the sense of someone nearby...even a dozen feet away. Draco cleared his head in a heartbeat, turning the knowledge of what he would lose into anger, letting it fuel his illusion of disdain and contempt. 

Even a slight misstep or failure could send Potter fleeing into the night, off to who knew where to die alone and in final and absolute agony. To save him Draco could only hurt him as he had before...using the last of the precious time he would have with Harry to violate and belittle him. The unfairness enraged him, and he made that rage his shield. When Potter's eyes fluttered open, Draco was already shaking with barely controlled anger.

"You're late." It was all that croaked from Harry's throat, vague with an air of disinterest.

Draco let the irritation flow out of him and into his speech. "I can't be late, Potter. To be late, I'd have to owe something to the pathetic little parasite on my couch. Since I owe that creature nothing but my scorn, I can't be late. Let me suggest something to you. If you're concerned about timeliness...get your ass into the bedroom and be ready when I get there. It's been a long day...I need to unwind...and if I were you I'd be ready for the gates of hell to open once I get started. I'm never in the mood for your sass, and I'm even less in the mood for it tonight."

Potter was already upright and strolling toward the bedroom, slipping out of his boxers and walking the rest of the way naked. The mottled and half healed bruises on his back were visible in the hall light. "Yeah, yeah...no one gets it done like you, what the fuck ever. If you could do it as much as you talk about it, I'd be dead instead of bored stiff waiting for you. Fuck me or kill me, just don't bore me, fucker!" 

The sarcasm and barbed comments made Draco's glands flare to life. Potter always smarted off when they'd been apart or inactive too long, and it never failed to enrage Draco. Being challenged directly, treated with the same disdain he felt for others...it triggered an anger in him that didn't require faking. When he'd finished a glass of wine and left the dregs of the glass on the counter, Draco stalked like a panther toward the bedroom, peeling away clothes as he went. Three days. He could last three days, but the Potter he delivered to salvation would be a chastened creature by then.

TBC


	6. Part 6

The Curse (Part 6 of 7) by Samayel

Draco walked into the old church with the limp bundle across his shoulder weighing him down, saw Granger laying out components in the corner and marched over, only to show surprising gentleness when he deposited a blanket wrapped Potter onto the unused altar. Harry was unconscious and breathing softly in slumber, and Hermione looked at her long missing friend for the first time in years and muffled a cry.

"God! Look at him! He looks like half starved." She came closer to the altar, leaving her tools and books behind, pushing the blankets aside and getting a closer look at Harry's sleeping form. "Ugh! You pig! He's bruised everywhere! What did you do to him?"

Draco shrugged mildly and sighed. "What do you think? You said it would take three days for you to get things ready for this. How do you think I kept him distracted that long? Whatever part of him would normally respond to empathy from someone else makes him meaner than an enraged bulldog now. Even I wouldn't want to take him on with a fair warning or an honest expression of concern! So to keep him content and in the dark about what we were up to...I spent the last three days hate-fucking his brains out between trips to the mansion for a couple of helpful items. About an hour ago I put him through as much as I could manage...then while he was half dazed, I Stunned him completely by surprise, dosed him with a powerful sleeping draught and got these around his hands."

Draco pointed to the chain linked bracelets on Harry's wrists. They looked deceptively fine in make and impossibly slender and delicate in design...but were in fact as hard as the finest steel and could have held against an attempt by a troll to snap them. 

"YOU HAVE A SET OF...!!!" Hermione's outraged voice rang through the old church before Draco's upraised hand momentarily silenced her.

"Yes...they were in the estate vault. And yes...I know exactly how incredibly illegal it is to have a set of cuffs that block the ability to use magic completely. Stop being judgmental and try to remember that, if I didn't have those cuffs, we'd never be able to hold him still long enough to cast anything at him...much less finish a spell you said would take time! When the spell comes off of him and the potion wears out we're not going to be able to hide anything from him...and take it from me...he might look skinny and small...but his punches are like being hit by a small lorry with a nice ass. I thought these might improve our chance of success."

Hermione bit her lip, torn between disapproval and acceptance. It was strange to see her friend looking so different than she remembered him. The last time she'd seen his face, he'd only just been discharged from St. Mungo's after demanding to be let out. Harry had made his way to Grimmaud Place and seemed uninterested in setting foot out the doors of it ever again. Hermione had attended Ron's funeral and had seen no sign of Harry. Not a card or a letter, not a flower or any small symbol of interest. 

She'd lied to the Weasley's...explaining on Harry's behalf that he wasn't yet well enough to make it out of the house on his own. When it was over she'd gone there herself, still warded though it was, because she was one of the few who had permission to cross the wards.

The loss of Ron was still fresh and aching in her, and the funeral had made it a raw wound and a terrible reality. She'd confronted Harry with anger at first, and he'd seemed downright indifferent, curled in a couch next to a pile of books, looking like he'd slept in his clothes after leaving the hospital. 

It was when she'd changed tack after venting her anger...when she'd tried to ask if he was really alright...if he needed help...then it had all gone horribly wrong. Harry had shrunk into that couch like he was being kicked in the gut, curled into himself and could barely speak. When she came close and put a hand to his head...to show with a touch that she cared...Harry had exploded outwards, punching and kicking and screaming epithets. 

The things he'd said were spectacularly hurtful, far more so than the ineffectual blows. They were the kinds of things only someone close to you, someone who knew your every doubt or fear, could have said, knowing exactly how much they'd hurt. Bruised and shocked, she'd stormed out of Grimmaud Place with only a pair of upraised fingers and the words "Piss off then, you absolute, fucking cunt!" as a farewell between her and her fellow survivor.

Now here they were, years later. Her life had become a hermit's existence, with scholarship taking the place of the brief time she'd spent wrestling over too much drink. Harry had spent all that time lost to them...vanished out into the streets where he wouldn't be recognized, as far from the Wizard community as he could get and still be among humans in England. Even changed by self inflicted indulgence and near starvation...it was still Harry. She could push away that shock of cheaply dyed hair and see the faded scar above his brows. 

She looked over at Draco, and for the first time it dawned on her that she was looking at an expression on his face that she'd never seen, or even imagined seeing. He looked sad. Genuinely, deeply sad...and tired almost past the point of staying upright.

"He'll have to be awake for it, won't he? You're sure there's no other way?" Draco sounded as tired as he looked. There was an air of defeat in his voice. Mostly, he sounded afraid, and damned uncomfortable with it.

"Yeah. This is a long shot at best. I know what you said, but I had no idea he would look this rough. I don't even know if he can take it. Draco...it might be too late no matter what we do. I told you what you needed to do...what this spell will take. Are you sure you can do this?"

"I don't have a choice, do I? Even if I'm not ready, we won't be able to pull off this stunt twice. Once that potion wears off and he wakes up...I'll never catch him unawares again. We either get this right...or he'll run off somewhere until he dies. Or, worst case, we kill him trying to cure him. I don't deal in rosy imaginings, Granger. I always thought I liked ugly realities...I may have kidded myself, but at least I'm used to them, even if I hate this one."

"Merlin help us." Hermione exhaled. "We must be insane to even attempt this. The theory is sound, but if I'm wrong, he's doomed." She felt panic taking hold. What if this was for nothing? An incantation wrong, a sentiment not strong enough...or a body not healthy enough to endure indescribably agony. Any of these things could leave them with a dead body on their hands instead of just a severely damaged person in need of immediate treatment at St. Mungo's. It could all fall apart too easy...too much left to chance.

"I...I can't...can't do this. There...St. Mungo's maybe...they could...we..." She knew she was babbling and gasping at straws but she couldn't stop herself. Then a pair of hands grabbed her sweater and jerked her almost off her feet.

"GRANGER! DO NOT...I repeat...do not fall apart on me now! You know what you can't handle? You can't handle that this will hurt him. You can't handle that this might fail. This will be ugly, and hateful and every part of it will make us wish we'd been somewhere else, doing something less horrid than this! You know what made this possible? I did! It's happening because I can lie to someone's face, because I can cheat behind their back, because I can hurt them if it needs to be done, because I'll break laws, bend rules and finish what I start to get what I want! 

Well...I'm not lying now...if you don't get it together and do your part to make this happen...I'll kill him myself rather than leave him like this! What he'll go through will be worse than hell! He's already dead either way...so we do this....and we hope its enough! Heroism didn't get us here...except for him...I got us here. Only ruthlessness will get him out of this...and I...I...am...ruthless!"

The hands loosened and Hermione slid back to her own feet, stunned into silence by Draco's sudden intensity and certainty. It was all an act...the preening and posing, the condescension and sneers. Under it all was a survivor whose strengths were all saved for those precious, terrible moments when it mattered most. In his certainty she found her own...and pushed the hands away.

"On your head be it. I...I can do it...when I start chanting...break the spells...you already know what to do when he comes to." She walked away breathing deeply, trying to focus her mind for the ritual. Despite all she'd ever thought of Draco Malfoy, against all odds, he was right and she knew it. "Hang him over the cross...that's where we found him when we broke in here back then."

Draco found an old chair and hitched Potter over his shoulders, clambering up and pushing the manacled arms over the top of the old cross...then leaned against his recently unlimbered burden and sighed. He muttered, "Ever the fucking martyr, aren't you, Harry. How come I only ever get to be the villain, eh?" 

The spell was a spell of reversal, performed in the same ancient style as the one that had cursed Harry years before. That spell had been built on hate, fueled by pain and suffering, locked into place with total contempt for another human being's life. For this to work, it had to be the undoing of all that had happened before, it had to be the opposite in every meaningful respect, and yet a bright mirror image of a dark moment. The same place, but perfectly opposite circumstances. 

Hermione lit the candles one by one, then opened the small book in which she'd hand penned the appropriate words. A censer of herbs had been prepared at home...and these too she set to smolder, letting the scented smoke waft through the old building. Then came the words she had written herself, a chant that would start a process, but couldn't hope to finish it without a proper catalyst. She began the intonations, hoping her shaky voice would hold out long enough for this to work. The rest...was in the hands of Harry...and Draco.

Draco heard the first words of the chant beginning, and he knew that time was up. There was no time left for anything but waking Harry and letting the chips fall where they may. A hasty spell and the potion and Stunner wore off instantly...with Harry's head promptly bobbing upright as he returned to consciousness, eyes wide open and slightly blurry.

"Son-of-a...never...trusted you...fuggin' bastard! Wha...what did you...do?" The green eyes suddenly snapped sharp and clear when Harry tried to make use of his wandless magic and realized that something blocked his abilities. In seconds the curse would take hold again when he sensed no longer concealed concern for his well-being...and Malfoy knew these were the last words Harry would ever consciously hear him say.

"I told you I could hurt you in ways that no one else had ever dreamed of, didn't I, Harry? Looks like I didn't lie to lie to you about that...and I'm not lying about this: I love you, Harry. Just try to stay alive long enough to remember that." Standing on the chair, Draco surged forward, pinning Harry's body to the old cross, face buried in Harry's neck while he held the slender man tight against the wooden construct.

Harry was too gobsmacked to say anything at first, blinking in shock just before the first of the pain hit like a tidal wave. Then there was no time or way to say anything intelligible. All around him he could feel it hemming in...very real, very genuine, and very terrifying. That was Hermione's voice in the background, and the man who'd been using him as a sextoy for the past months was muttering things about hurt and love that he could barely hear into his ears. The presence of their fear for him, the love, their concern and need for his wellness was choking...and the pain started to well up inside like a volcano, burning inside until nothing within him was free from scorching pain. 

He couldn't form proper words, only screams, and he could taste the copper tang of blood in his throat when he grew hoarse from shrieking. He pulled and flexed with all his might, until the muscles of his arms twanged like cables and he barely felt the shoulders pop from the sockets through the haze of pain. It seemed endless, a torment that wouldn't stop even though he gibbered and flopped and pissed himself while weeping and incoherently praying for death to take him so that this feeling could just end. 

Then, mercifully, something deep inside his being was struck like a chord, and just as he was sure that there was no sanity left in him there was a moment of absolute and wonderful peace. A split second where the agony in his spirit could be felt fleeing away and all that was left were the sorenesses and pains of his flesh. Then darkness slid over him like a blanket, and Harry sighed and fell into the darkness with nothing but gratitude for the way it stole away his battered senses.

Draco had latched hold as the chant got underway and had gotten the worst of the screams only an inch or two from his ear...as well as a crazed bite to his clothed shoulder that ached in the extreme, but at least it had distracted him from the fact that his eardrums felt punctured. He'd listened to the cries of people in throes of pain and pleasure before...but these were not like those sounds at all. These were the cries of a wounded animal, tearing at the flesh that moored it to a trap. If Harry had been free to do so, he'd have chewed a limb off to get away from them. 

Draco had been right to immobilize Harry the way he had...and he knew it when the first terrible screams had welled up and burst forth. They didn't stop at all, and he could barely hear the shrill chant of a terrified Hermione in the background over the noise. He knew the spell wasn't enough...it was time for his part.

He never actually said another word. It wasn't a thing that could easily be said. Words would have cheapened it, made it hollow and worthless for this. It was something that had to be felt. It had to be thought...experienced...witnessed in silence and recognized. It was the hardest thing he had ever imagined doing, and it didn't come naturally to him. It was alien and frightening...and letting it just well up and take over was almost more than he could manage in his first few tries. But he could tell it was working by the way that Harry's screams began to crescendo, by the desperate way his charge struggled against him, and by the way it made his own eyes tear up beyond his control.

Control. That was Draco's sacrifice. He abandoned it entirely at last, even hating himself at that last second before he collapsed into Harry and just wept into the shock of violet hair in his face. Every stress he'd ever carried, every pride he'd ever borne like a standard, and every fear he'd ever feigned indifference to flooded up and out of him. Again and again he pushed thoughts of Harry into the forefront of his mind, forcing himself to confront a desire to let his own guard down and let someone be a part of his life as an equal. Love. Selfless, decent, gentle, miraculous love. The only thing in thousands of years of human history to defy the bitter cruelties of human nature. The great balancing force that separated man from beast. It wasn't something that control could touch...it was a thing that control could only obstruct. 

Unobstructed it came, and it cut like a two edged sword. Draco felt it when it came, when Harry fell limp like a puppet whose strings had been cut, when the screams stopped and only soft breaths were against his ear. Something enormous and fluttering and powerful, like some vast invisible bird, brushed against them...and then there was silence. Absolute and utter silence in that desolate place. Draco pulled away, mopped the tears from his face, and pulled Harry up from the cross and carried him over to where Hermione sat in stunned silence. He laid Harry gently on the floor in front of Hermione, released the cuffs and tucked them into his coat, and stood back up.

"Is it...is he...?" Hermione looked uncertain and half scared to death of what the answers might be.

"He's alive...and breathing. I think he's got dislocated shoulders. Also...he may have bitten his tongue...as well as my shoulder. I'm wet...I think I'm bleeding...or it could be his...I don't know. Just...take him. Go. St. Mungo's is waiting." He felt dizzy enough to fall over...and only the fact that he hadn't had anything in his stomach was keeping him from vomiting. Mostly he just wanted to go home...back to his flat...back to some semblance of peace and quiet. His ears were ringing from the screams. He wanted silence and started to turn around and stagger toward the exit.

"Malfoy! Wait...I...what you did..." Hermione's voice broke off.

Draco kept walking and just waved a hand behind him as he stumbled away. "NO! Don't you even tell him! I just want to be left alone. You did enough by getting this done. The rest is up to St. Mungo's." He didn't have the strength to look back. She'd seen it all...or at least enough. She'd seen him weep without any shame left in him. There was nothing to talk about, nothing to hide, but nothing to add that wouldn't bring it all back to life. He really just wanted to forget.

Without another word between them he walked out of the old church and wandered the streets of London disheveled and sore until he found his way home. He barely had the wits about him to ward his bedraggled self against the prying eyes of muggles on the streets. Draco finally lurched in the door of his flat, pulled the cork from a bottle of wine, collapsed into a chair that still stunk faintly of Potter's sweat and smoke, and quietly drank himself to sleep.

TBC


	7. Part 7

The Curse (Part 7 of 7) by Samayel 

 

The days had blurred into weeks...and then into months. The proud creature that Draco had been had melted away in the aftermath of that terrible day...and what was left was a broken mess. Sometimes he did not rise for most of a day, save to use a bathroom, and other times he paced fretfully but without purpose. Mostly he sat, and always he drank. The Malfoy cellars were deep and well stocked...and he'd rarely put more than a slight dent in them...but now the bottles had to be collected by the occasional visiting house elf dropping off fresh stock.

Something very important had cracked and shattered inside him...something that had sustained his belief in himself. In the absence of that towering pride all that was left was a very confused and lonely young man with no one to voice his thoughts to but the walls. He drank a lot...often until he had visions and could weep to someone who wasn't there, or until he raved at empty air and swung his fists at ghosts. After awhile even that stopped, and Draco just drifted from chair to bed to chair again, eating a bite here and there when the elves left something out.

There had been a pile of paperwork at the manor...heaps of unread things and documents clamoring for signatures...and he'd just shuffled away and Apparated back to his flat. He didn't want to be troubled with them anymore. Thinking was more than he could bear at the best of times anymore. Soon after he no longer Apparated anywhere. He liked it where he was...in the quiet and the dark. He could weep a little if he were drunk enough...and that was enough to let some of it out...to keep him alive long enough to wake and do it all again.

He hadn't even the desire for sex anymore. He'd always been a riotously lusty fellow...eager to find new sport. The thought of searching for someone...sickened him now. Everything he had ever done...it turned his stomach to sour acid. Everything he'd been...was a thorough shame in the eyes of hindsight. All of it, all that time, all that passion...wasted. None of it mattered now. He'd gathered together the implements and toys and gear that had been a part of his former sex life...and burned the box of them into a cluster of cinders right on the carpet. The black and charred patch was still there, unattended after weeks.

He couldn't have attracted anyone at this point anyway. He'd seen himself in the mirror...red eyed, haunted and lank-haired, unkempt, rumpled and stained. Even when he washed it was more like numb ritual, and sometimes he didn't wash for days.

The visions came more often when he'd sometimes forget to drink, delirious and too weak to leave his seat. Beautiful visions, like memories that should have been, brought to life just to taunt him, always out of reach, untouchable and just beyond his grasp. Always it was Harry, naked and defiant, with an expression of contempt on his face. He could almost hear it whispered. "How could you?" He would sometimes find the strength to crawl toward the vision, pleading for forgiveness, and always he would tumble against empty air and collapse onto the floor a drunken mess.

One night his eyes fluttered open when he heard that voice from his dreams. "Wake up. Draco?"

Unlike usual, Dream Harry was fully clothed. His hair was shorter and dark, no longer a flop of greasy violet. The face had no contempt anywhere to be found, just...a whiff of sadness...and a measure of pity. He wasn't sallow or hollow eyed...he was fit and clean. Draco blinked owlishly in the faint light. At the moment he lacked the strength to stand. He just stared, muttered something about cruel visions, and flopped forward to beg forgiveness at the feet of his Dream...and promptly passed back out.

At some point, Draco drifted back into consciousness, unsure of whether it was morning or evening, and not really caring. Then he smelled strong tea being brewed...and other smells that didn't quite belong in his routine. Awareness came back to him. He was in bed...properly for once. He wasn't clothed...and that wasn't usual anymore either. 

He could smell sausages cooking...and eggs...and the sounds of food sizzling and utensils clinking were trickling in from the kitchen. He wasn't hung over at all...and that was very off as well, because he knew from painful experience that wine hangovers were particularly nasty. He was also aware of what he didn't smell...and that was himself. He was clean, not reeking of wine or sweat.

He rolled carefully out of the bed and found a clean robe that he couldn't recall having placed beside the nightstand. His slippers were waiting by the bed as well. He looked in the mirror on the door and saw that he was surprisingly intact, neither looking as wretched as he seemed to recall, nor as intoxicated as he was sure he ought to look. The bedroom was clean and organized for the first time in weeks as well. 

For a moment he didn't dare to open the door. He had the terrible feeling that he was trapped, and that this would be very awkward and uncomfortable. He could lock the door and hide, but that didn't seem like a proper way to behave toward someone who had done so much.

He pulled the door open and sidled out cautiously...just peering around the corner at first. It was Harry. He looked completely in his element, despite the strange panorama of Harry Potter elbow deep in making breakfast. He remembered the vision of Harry...except it hadn't been a vision. He was clean and healthy and had the look of someone who was alert and well taken care of in every respect. The piercings and dye were gone, and so were the punk clothes. He was wearing a somewhat baggy pair of clean shorts, well made sandals, a white undershirt and a short sleeved casual shirt besides. He was wearing his glasses again...which was a change...he'd been wearing contacts for who only knew how long.

Harry must have known Draco was staring, but the shorter man said nothing at all. He just kept finishing the food and setting up cups and saucers for tea. The apartment had been cleaned thoroughly, everything neat and properly placed, every wine stain gone...and even the burnt patch on the carpet had disappeared. 

Draco wasn't sure what to do...didn't know what to say. It occurred to him that he might have gone insane...and this was his heaven...or that he might have died...and this could be his hell, with something terrible waiting to unfold. He was still a little light headed, even though he felt surprisingly well...so he walked to his favorite chair and sat down quietly. Whatever happened would happen when it was ready. If he was mad he'd never know, if he was damned he'd know too soon.

It was surreal, until Harry's voice cut through the fog of Draco's bemusement and asked, "How do you take your tea? I never asked." 

Draco stared helplessly. He swallowed and tried to speak. He knew he should answer properly, but that wasn't what he wanted to say.

"Is this...is this real?"

Harry's face flickered impatience, then calm. "Yeah. I'm here. Do you want me to go?"

"No." Draco's voice was quieter, meeker than he remembered it ever being. "You can stay."

"I sent you letters. You didn't answer." It was said matter of factly, but not without a hint of irritation.

"I...I didn't take any mail...for awhile." It sounded feeble as an excuse.

"You didn't answer. How do you take your tea?"

"One sugar. Are you angry? About...what I did to you?"

"No. I don't think I should be. At least...not much. I just...why didn't you come around? I asked about you...in the hospital. No one knew anything. Hermione wouldn't talk. She kept saying she had to honor your wishes. Think about that. Hermione saying she wanted to honor your wishes. It fairly boggles the fucking mind."

"I wanted to be alone. Why do you...why are you here?"

"Here's your tea. And your plate. Why don't you focus on eating? You need to get your strength up. The spells I put on you won't last forever. If you haven't stabilized by the time they wear off, you'll feel damned rough. It might take awhile to properly answer that question, anyway."

Draco quietly took his utensils and began to sip at his tea and start his breakfast. He couldn't bring himself to meet Harry's eyes. It was easier just to hear him speak than it was to feel that intense gaze boring into him.

"You just left. I remember bits and pieces of things. I had a lot of therapy...not just healing. The mental kind. It took a long time. I wasn't used to being around people in a normal way. I remembered things though. Not in any order, just kind of jumbled up and popping out at random. I was about two months into my therapy. One day...I remembered something you said to me...that night. It was clear as day. About not lying to me...about wanting me to live long enough to know that...and after that things got...bad. It was pushed out of my head. 

Then there were all the things Hermione wouldn't talk about. I remembered a lot of being here, and the things...the things we did. She said it was a curse...and that she broke it...and when I'd asked about you she got silent. She wouldn't discuss it. I started putting it together on my own. The last bit came back to me and I figured it out. I tried to send you letters, but you didn't answer. It was you, wasn't it? You broke the curse...not her. You sit there and nod yes, but you won't say anything. You didn't ask for anything...you just left. You didn't even come by to get thanked. I just want to know why."

Draco put down the fork, eggs and all...swallowed his tea and tried not to let his hand shake when he placed the cup to the saucer. He'd nodded yes, but talking only made this worse. All he could do was stare at the plate in front of him.

"Please don't think ill of me. I used to...I knew who I was. I knew what I was. Whoever I was then...is dead...and probably ought to be. I'm sorry. If you came looking for the person who tortured you,hurt you...that person is gone. I've done...appalling things...to you...to everyone I've ever been even the least bit close to at all. This...mess...is all that's left of who I used to be. I'm not worth your time."

Draco realized that he was shaking and reflexively folded his hands to make it less visible. He didn't want to look up...mostly because he could feel the heat of tears forming. He hadn't cried since school...until these past few months. Now he seemed to have no control over himself at all. The food would have been delicious...if he was capable of thinking of food as anything but a mouthful of ashes.

"I don't think ill of you. Not because I liked any of what you did. It was something I suppose I needed...now that I can think clearly and look back. It kept me alive...but I hated every minute of it. I may be queer...but I wouldn't have picked that pretty extreme version of a lifestyle if I'd had any choice. 

But...what you did...about the curse...that wasn't something a terrible person would do. You strutted around like you were Ivan the Terrible and Attila the Hun all rolled into one...but someone that evil...would never have done what you did. I'm not stupid. Don't insult me by pretending I don't grasp what was going on. The Draco I thought I knew wouldn't live like this...wouldn't care what he thought of himself or what anyone else thought of him, either."

Draco put his face into his hands and barked out a strangled sob before he could speak. "You don't know me! I'm not like you! I gave you your life back...you should just go!" It was all he could get out before his shoulders started to convulse and he bent over, shuddering, spilling the tea and breakfast in the process.

Somewhere in the midst of it he realized his head was being held while he wept...and he didn't really care. It was nice. The only pleasant thing he could recall anyone doing for him in years and years. Just holding onto him while his entire body was wracked with tightness, rebelling against letting out tears that seemed to well up from some bottomless place inside.

When his breath stopped coming in short gasps he muttered what he'd wanted to say.

"I'm so sorry. I think...that I am in love...with you. My entire life...I've wasted it. I threw it all away to prove I was something powerful and strong. I failed. I've seen true strength. I don't have that in me. Not like you. I did it all wrong. After what I've done...I think I belong away...from people...from you. Away from everything. I lost either way. If I kept you as you were...you died. If I got you cured...I'd be the last thing you need. Please...forgive me. You shouldn't be here...dealing with this...with me."

"That's not really your call. I came because I wanted to." Harry had pulled away and was kneeling in front of him, cleaning up what he could of the mess of food, dishes and cutlery. His words had an offhanded, nervously casual tone that made a lie out of his seeming calm. 

"I didn't plan on finding you like this...I admit that. I just kind of thought I'd say thanks properly. Maybe invite you for a bite to eat somewhere. I'm not much for drinks right now...maybe some other decade, eh? Nice to think that you consider me strong for spending the last few years drunk, stoned and whoring myself out as a bondage toy. Pretty much redefines the concept of strong, doesn't it?"

Harry drifted into the kitchen and disposed of the mess. "You want strong...try cleaning up after you and getting this place and you looking civilized again. Seriously...I was the one who was supposed to be that kind of mess. So you aren't who you thought you were? Why kick yourself forever? What is it you want to be? Go be that, as much as you can, and stick with it as long as it takes. I have a long way to go too, you know? I can't sleep right most nights...I get nervous in crowds or around strangers...and some of my memories make me sick. I just have to keep going long enough to write some new memories. I know it'll get easier someday."

Draco felt a faint familiar glower of his old irritation before it faded away. It was kind of energizing. "You make it sound easier than you know it is. I'm tired of being the uncomfortable one." His senses weren't dead. He could feel the nervous air in Harry's responses...and the scent of it made him come just a little more alive. "My brain isn't so addled that I can't spot someone dissembling from a mile away. I think it's a gesture of respect that I'd be this honest with anyone. If it was anyone but you...but it is you. You're hiding something. Something you don't want to talk about. Did I offend you? Saying that I love you? I had dreams about you since that night. I've missed your...even just the illusion of your presence. 

"Maybe it is pathetic, but when I had to work to keep you from leaving...it was more effort than I've ever put forward for anyone...or anything. Maybe it makes you uncomfortable...but you made me feel things I've never felt before. I felt...good. Contented. Like I had what I wanted and I didn't need anything else. I just...the way I've lived my life...the way we met...I wish I could erase all that, but I can't. Wishing is for idiots...and you've made me that kind of idiot."

Harry flushed furiously, scowling and staring into the sink. "Okay. Therapist said honesty and being candid about my feelings was healthy. Here goes. You...insufferable ass! YES...I didn't just come here to thank you and leave. Prick! Maybe I'm stupid from all the drugs I did...but...I wondered if the person who could do that much for my sake...for no reward...not even thanks...well...what if they weren't like I thought...or if they needed...what if YOU needed help? I thought I'd, you know, just spend some time talking now and then. Make sure you were alright. I mean...shouldn't the person who saved your life be considered a friend? I didn't think I'd be picking you off the floor and spelling you clean and into decent shape just to have a chat! Or cleaning up the place...or making you breakfast! Ingrate ass!"

Draco felt the first ghost of a smile on his lips...it was the best feeling he'd had in months. The sound of Harry's voice, cross with him and snarky, made his heart leap in his chest. He rose from the chair slowly and sidled toward the kitchen counter until it was all that was between him and Harry...who looked somewhere between angry and thoroughly embarrassed. Draco couldn't keep the smirk from forming while his heart buoyed.

"Music to my ears, Potter! Insult me more! C'mon! Admit it! You have some feelings of your own, don't you? What's the matter? Life on the outside world going hard, difficult to make new friends, thinking about the guy who saved your life even though he was a prat to you? Been months since you've had a decent shagging? Or..."

The slap that hit his face stung mightily, mostly because it was perfectly placed and this time coming from a healthy and sober person. Draco could feel his long sluggish blood leaping back into action, glands on fire and entire being thrumming with life. They stood only separated by the couple feet of fine wood, staring at one another, Harry furious and defiant, Draco smirking and suddenly feeling surprisingly like himself...and yet somehow not. Somehow...more. More...in control. In control of himself. In control of his emotions and actions. Harry obviously wasn't perfect. He wasn't a bastion of calm perfection. He was just...alive...human...and beautiful in his wrath.

"I had that coming." Draco lightly rubbed his face where it was reddening.

"Shut up." Harry smoldered, still tensed to strike again, quivering with pent up anger.

Draco leaned in slowly, finally able to easily meet Harry's gaze, and breathed out the words slowly. "Then give me something to do besides talk."

Harry's reserve melted almost instantly, and suddenly warm lips were pressed against Draco's, and a soft tongue was seeking ingress hungrily...the flicker of a small steel ball slithering across own tongue made Draco suddenly gasp...and he felt the throaty chuckle from the man he was kissing. Hands were in his hair when they parted and Harry whispered, "What...I kept a few mementos. I'm not a total fucking prude."

Draco smiled one of the only entirely genuine smiles he could recall. His life had always been a prolonged act, always keeping his cards close to his vest like an old time gambler. Letting all pretense slide away was an exquisite pleasure that was almost like pain. Even robed he felt utterly naked. "No...never that. What do we do now, Harry? I want you. Not ashamed of that. What do you want?"

Harry blushed...which was shocking enough given his level of experience. The answer came in stammered bits. "You wanted the truth...I...I was a virgin when I was cursed. I never had time to fool around or date properly after I'd figured out what I wanted. Then it was...you know...drifting...drugs...the rest. I just...met some guy...and he was...rough, insistent...and I remember suddenly feeling better. Like it took the pain away more effectively than the drugs could. Not 'good'...but not as bad. Every part of it was wrong...and horrible. I knew it, too...but it was such a relief that I didn't care. My first time was...necessary...it wasn't something I wanted to do or meant to do. I...I just thought...if you could do something that decent...and I already know you're gay...rrr...fuck! This is hard to say. I've never had...pleasure...from...that. I don't want pain...I want to feel good...without drugs or booze or anything...just feel...close. It would be my real 'first time'."

"And you trust me not to hurt you? After...what we've done? After what I did? You know what I've been. I liked hurting you. I took pleasure from it. You'd trust me for this?" Draco was incredulous...and feeling the creeping strain of holding back sudden happiness, as well as the first flicker of once faded sexual longing.

Harry had stalked around the counter and managed to nervously slip a hand onto Draco's bare chest, dark fingers pressed against paler flesh, expressing a confidence that Draco could tell was mostly bravado, hiding a nervousness that made the gesture all the more meaningful. "Sure. You had my life in your hands...and you gave it back to me. There isn't anyone I trust more. I wasn't going to ask...at least until we'd had some time to hang out...but you wanted to know, right? Now you know. So what are you going to do about it?"

A pale hand slipped over the darker one, holding it pressed close to Draco's heart. "There's a catch to this, Harry. You want someone to walk you back into life. I want you. You might think that's enough. I'm not that different. I haven't changed that much. I'm selfish...and greedy...and jealous. I don't share with others what I want for my own. If you're looking for a roll in the hay to make you feel alive again...before strolling off to find the rest of your life...I'm not it. It's too much to ask, but I'm asking anyway. Be mine. Figure this out with me, however long it takes, but don't be here and then be gone. Foul bastard I might be, but I'm not signing on for anything less."

Green eyes burned upward at gray. "Idiot. What...are you trying to make me say it? I wouldn't even have asked if I didn't mean to try. I just thought this would, you know, take longer. I'm...kind of a mess...still, but at least that makes two of us. I don't know if it'll work out. I'm not promising anything but this...I'm right here, right now. Nowhere else. The rest is in your hands."

Somewhere between the kisses that followed and sunset, a pact was made. It wasn't a promise of perfection to come, but a solemn oath to be patient with imperfection...and try, again and again as often as necessary, to make something work where nothing ought to have been. When the sun rose again they were still intertwined, flirting with absolute exhaustion. 

Draco had discovered, perversely, that seeing a lover's satisfaction in his arms was as heady a thrill as any diversion he'd ever entertained before. He also discovered that Harry had kept most of the piercings below his neck! Harry had lived a lifetime without the pleasure of a lover...and in Draco he had found someone chiefly interested in pleasing him as much as possible...which took considerable endurance. After years without even the slightest possible indulgence, Harry was hungry to make up for lost time and it showed in his nervous, almost desperate neediness. Draco savored the one privilege he'd most desired...seeing Harry respond sexually, not with relief or jaded disinterest...but with frenzied intensity and naked appetite.

They were both of them out of their element...frightened of what they didn't know and couldn't predict...but they were determined...and that counted for a lot. There were arguments and hard words, bruised feelings and egos in the days that followed, but the promise kept them coming back and trying again and again. The London flat soon became the epicenter of a Wizarding media frenzy...owing largely to Harry's sudden return to the world...and the rumors that he had taken up with Draco Malfoy only made it worse. When even taking a stroll together became impossible, Draco closed his flat and returned to the manor, and Harry gave the press two fingers and followed his boyfriend without comment. In due time the press finally moved on to new sport, relegating the beleaguered couple to the back pages and gossip columns, and life went on, although the Malfoy house elves never quite recovered from their apoplectic fits brought on by serving a Potter at the Malfoy table...along with frequent visitors from various houses that would never have graced the Malfoy manor with their presence in years gone by.

The master bedroom was their cozy haven until nearly afternoon most days...and it was on one of those days, with the sun shining warmly through an enormous window and making them bask in its comfort like enormous cats, that Harry, still curled against Draco with his head lying on his lover's chest, blurted out something with an air of finality.

"You know it isn't about saving my life, right? It isn't gratitude. It's been long enough...I'm sure of it. I just love you. I like the way you touch me...I like the way you smile when I'm around. I love the way you feel inside of me...the way you shudder when you come. I love the way you tease me and keep me on edge until I just lose control and come all over myself...and the fact that we're both into doing totally indecent things with each other in places that probably make your ancestors spin in their graves. I love feeling that I'm attractive to you...knowing that you look at me and like what you see. I love hearing you talk...when you aren't being an ass! I love sleeping beside you and waking up knowing you're here and won't go anywhere. I love all of it. I wanted better memories...and I have them now...and you're in all of them. I love you."

And guileless at last, drenched in sunlight and lazily stroking his boyfriend's hair, Draco kissed Harry softly for no other reason than to enjoy that simple act, and answered with the same three words. There had been a time when pride dictated his reserve, commanded his distance from others...and that pride was dead and buried. A new pride had risen to take its place, far more satisfying than any he had ever known. His restlessness was gone and forgotten, his contentment complete. He loved and was loved in kind, pleased and was pleased in turn, cared and was cared for equally...and if that wasn't something to be proud of, then what was?

 

FIN.


End file.
